


Morrigan, Queen of Ferelden

by GreaterGoodIreland



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-05-15 08:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19291690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreaterGoodIreland/pseuds/GreaterGoodIreland
Summary: Morrigan, By the Grace of the Maker, Queen of Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Defender of the Realm





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: The World Turned Upside-Down**

The Royal Palace of Ferelden, imposing and grand, although nothing she was unused to. There had been a time where She would have been impressed, but now, it was middling. Unremarkable.

As were its people, on the outside at least.

Morrigan could see through the gaps in her honour guard, a whole company of Grey Wardens in silverite plate and blue tunics, their winged helmets glistening light into her eyes every now and then. The drunken dwarf was in front, leading the procession, by some miracle both soberly and without smelling like a pig that had been left to ferment.

She saw those very Fereldans lining the route as she passed by, those very unremarkable people.

On the garlanded streets from the estate to the steps of the Palace, they were commoners of all stripes. Well-to-do merchants, journeymen and craftsmen, elvhen servants, all looking their best. Which wasn't great. Most seemed happy, a few sullen, a few angry. The latter did not act, not this day.

A strange pleasure shot through her on seeing how happy she had made them, like she had brightened their lives even a little. What a strange thought it was to have, she knew, for her at least.

Once she had climbed the steps and entered the Palace itself, the scenery and people changed. The high arched ceiling stretched over head, the building swallowing the procession like a great dragon.

Morrigan felt like she had been, anyway. The series of events that had led her to this place could not have been predicted. The inside of the 'dragon' was as fine as she remembered. Finely crafted wooden balconies, elaborately stitched carpets, chandeliers, fireplaces, and the dog sigil on all of them. Nothing compared to her recent experiences, but useful nonetheless.

The onlookers were 'better' now. Richer, noble, cleaner... but apeing the Orlesian fashions of yesterday, or following the traditional dress of their ancestors to the point of absurdity.

At least their faces were uncovered. There was no hiding how they felt. It was not the Fereldan way, and despite those feelings, it was refreshing after so long. The faces she saw were frowning, glaring, looking away when their eyes met hers, or wrinkled with mixed emotions and lack of certainty. It would do no good to stare at them. She elected look straight forward, to her destination. Her destiny, even.

To the big idiot at the thrones. Well, her big idiot. Specifically, the big idiot staring down at her with his big grey eyes, a crown over his brown hair, encased in red ceremonial armour and wearing a sword he probably couldn't fight with. There was an even bigger imbecile off to the side slightly, in Templar armour and holding the Dog by the collar. Behind the two children.

Morrigan's approach had very appreciative effects on the idiot's face.

She wasn't the woman that had fled those years before. She had knowledge of things now. How to dress for an occasion being one of them. The dazzling white dress, the long tail held up out of the dirt by Wardens, was as fine a thing as could be made, in Orlais or Ferelden. She felt her heart flutter, sending her into a slight panicked flurry of thoughts. What was she doing?!

But she did not let a single strand of that thinking onto her face. By the time she reached the thrones, the idiot had a gigantic smile.

"You're beautiful," he said.

"I better be," Morrigan replied, "It took effort to look this good, my love."

"Good thing I said something," he laughed, before he waved over the cleric to do the formal part she did not care about, but had agreed to.

The Chantry's superstitions were satisfied over the course of the next half hour. Hymns were sung, the Canticles recited, the vows exchanged. It was all just so much unnecessary wasting of time. It was not under the Maker that they would be joined. They were joined long before that. On the edge of what looked like certain oblivion, searching for and finding a way to defeat Death herself.

Morrigan resisted the urge to tell the old lady to shut up so she could kiss the idiot, reminded of the annoying Wynne and her lectures. Tolerating this part of ceremony was the surest path to the life she wanted.

When it ended, the cleric stepped back, away from the thrones, to allow everyone to see what was happening once more.

The idiot, Aedan Cousland, father of her son, King and Hero of Ferelden, threw back her veil, placed one hand on the small of her back and another in her own. Their bodies closed the gap between them, and they kissed, sealing the compact expected of him. With a ferocity that was as much about bringing the nobles to the new reality as it was about the two of them.

Which was entirely why Morrigan agreed to participate, or at least that's what she told herself. Her insides were more honest. She felt her knees go weak, having to hold on to him to remain standing.

When it was over, she was Morrigan of House Cousland. A strange thing, to have a second name. She had been known as the daughter of Flemeth, which perhaps counted. She had used other names in Orlais, borrowed ones. But now she was part of a family with roots and branches she knew about. People she could count on if the worst happened, if she was to believe the ideal.

The strangest was yet to come, however.

Morrigan of House Cousland moved to centre stage, just before the steps, and kneeled facing the crowd. She looked out, examining every person's face, and glancing at the children to her right. All were enraptured. Good, she thought, you should be.

Behind her, Aedan shifted his weight, as the imbecile in Templar armour clanked over to give him the necessary item, allowing him to speak.

"I, Aedan Cousland, By the Grace of the Maker, King and Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Arl of Amaranthine, Defender of the Realm," he declared, "Do hereby grant the Crown Matrimonial to Morrigan Cousland, Consort of Amaranthine, and do anoint her Queen Regnant of Fereldan, to rule with me and beside me."

The crown came down onto Morrigan's head gently, the rim of the circlet resting slightly on her ears, the band perfectly sized for her head. She rose and held her head high, her eyes fixed on the back of the room.

"Long live Morrigan, Queen of Ferelden!" Aedan shouted at the top of his voice, his sword rasping out of its scabbard as he raised it to the air beside her.

"Long live the Queen!" roared the crowd, or enough of them so it seemed like the whole crowd. The dwarf did his level best to be louder than all of them, which sent a disgusting thought of appreciation for the drunk into Morrigan that she quickly suppressed. Count on him to ruin the moment, almost.

_"Long live the Queen!"_

_"Long live the Queen!"_

Her eyes went towards her son. Kieran smiled at her, the smile of a child not knowing the full implications of what was going on. It would be explained to him.

Beside him, the one-year-old blonde girl beamed, not sure what was going on but knowing it was important. The other child of Aedan. A child that would never know her true mother. A curl of unease. What relationship they would have, she did not know. It was going to be complicated.

Morrigan turned to Aedan himself, in time to find him taking her hand and looking out over the crowd himself with a wide grin. The challenges would be met head on, with no hesitation. Like the Blight had been. And she felt she had done the right thing.

Now, she was Queen. Now she had position and authority, more than she could have ever won in Orlais. She was second to no one, not even Aedan. Those unremarkable people in the street and in the Palace were her people. Hers to command, but hers to protect also.

Now, she would use that power. To protect herself and everything she loved, everything he loved.

And to take everything she wanted.

Morrigan imagined Flemeth in the crowd, laughing joyfully as hard as she could, as everyone continued to chant.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Salon**

Morrigan had come far.

First, there had been her early life, growing up in the Korcari Wilds. She lived openly as the mage she was, her only human contact other than with her mother being interaction with the local Chasind barbarians. Her early childhood was a haze, but as soon as she had the strength to wander, she did.

She was spotted all over the southern fringes of Ferelden, by Avvars, Chasind and Fereldans themselves. She would ask people things, about how things worked, how people were, before disappearing as suddenly as she had appeared. She wandered in forms other-than-human. That of a wolf, a raven, or a giant spider.

She met Aedan Cousland, and in some ways, the fight against the Archdemon of the Fifth Blight was the logical conclusion of her childhood's wandering; with him, she wandered further than before, and openly, never once denying who she was. But it couldn't remain like that. Whether it was in camp a little while before or on that last night before the darkspawn attacked Denerim, she was given a son.

Kieran could not live the life of a wanderer as Morrigan had. The Wilds were poisoned by the Blight, and the further she could flee from the memory of her mother, the better. At first, she turned to the eluvians, finding a safe, isolated place midst the worlds those magic mirrors led to. However, as her son grew, even this was dangerous. Isolation is destructive after a while, and not a long while at that.

Then came Orlais.

It was the only option. In Ferelden, people knew of her, too many to eliminate. In the Marches, fanatics held as much sway as those she could influence. Tevinter and Qunandar... well, she wasn't stupid. She had no intention of ending up childless in a Circle, as a magister's breeder, or as a drone with her mind broken and her lips sown shut.

In Orlais, there were people with the power to hide a mage, and every motivation to do so.

So through the eluvians Morrigan again returned to Ferelden, and from there, across the Frostbacks to Orlais. It was a time of wonderment for her infant son. He had never seen so much of what was there to see on the journey, not least people other than his mother. Even if he knew of such things, as the old god's soul shared his little body with the soul of Kieran himself.

This phase of Morrigan's life was one of continuous climbing up the social ladder of the Orlesian Empire.

From a chevalier she helped to defeat an abomination, she gained entry into the Great Game.

From a baron with bedroom problems, her reputation for discretion grew.

From a count who wanted a shapeshifter to spy on his rival, she learned everything there was to learn about the Game.

Her assumed name grew more than her real one, and as the years passed, Kieran grew too, whom she protected from the Game by disassociation with her in cunning ways. No one could have guessed they were related at all, but she continued to be mother to him all the same.

Finally, entry into the top tier of the nobility's circles arrived. The Marquis of Montsimmard had a mage daughter, one in need of tutelage in the ways of magic. A wise man, he saw the Mage-Templar war coming many years before, no doubt from his experience with them in the course of fighting Orlais' wars.

The daughter, Lienne, was diligent and intelligent. She gobbled up every scrap of knowledge Morrigan had to give. She was sharp-tongued as well, which her teacher greatly appreciated.

Friendship of a sort with the mother, Cosinne, also bloomed. With the protection of the Marquis, the Templars could not touch the former Witch of the Wilds, and Morrigan began to make appearances at Cosinne's _salons_ , meetings of prominent women and whatever men they dragged along to discuss the issues of the day, gossip, and swap tips on everything from hair dyes to birth control.

The future looked very bright indeed. The Empress had a mage advisor openly, and was no stranger to using magic. There was room at court for an Arcane advisor or two, and it looked certain that Morrigan would meet the Empress.

It had taken Her Radiance only a single introduction for the Madame de Fer to be appointed Court Enchanter. Morrigan planned to emulate that success, and secure the ultimate protection for her son: the favour of perhaps the most powerful country on Thedas.

That was the plan, until Alistair and Aedan came walking into one of Cosinne's get-togethers, the last she would ever attend as an unknown, and back into her life.

* * *

 

The salon was packed with notables, filling out every open space of both the polished white marble floors and the _canapés._ More so than usual.

It was not the only unusual thing Morrigan noticed from her own _chaise_ beside the Marquise. The chatter was restrained, not boastful and filled with gossip. Even for Orlais, everyone was very well turned out; wearing only the finest fabrics, donning only the finest masks, the largest jewels hanging off and encrusting every conceivable surface.

Before Morrigan's own arrival, Marquise Cosinne had advised a corset and neckline that emphasized 'her bosom', and on arrival, had handed over a huge ruby necklace to dangle over said bosom and a half-mask with a raven motif in obsidian glass.

While she appreciated the gifts, they complemented the red-black dress she was wearing perfectly, they also only grew the mystery. Especially as her questions went unanswered by anyone. It was infuriating.

So Morrigan sat there stewing behind her mask, tempted to turn into a cat so she could eavesdrop on people whom might know what was going on, until Lienne arrived through the crowd.

Her patron's daughter was decked out in a loose gown with a big puff on the small of her back, most of her front from neck to navel exposed down a slit in the middle of the grey-blue fabric. Her mask was the same colour, with sapphires set into it, her soft brown hair tumbling in curls to one side. It must have taken an age to prepare, Morrigan frowned to herself.

“Do I look good?” Lienne asked in her deep Orlesian accent, giving a little spin.

“'tis flattering to be sure,” Morrigan replied idly, giving the garb an eye while still half in thought, “But you look far too much like a rabbit for my tastes.”

“That was exactly the theme I was going for,” the mage-daughter said with a delicate shrug of one shoulder, “It is not often I get to meet so many people. I wanted something spectacular.”

It was that, Morrigan thought.

“The reason for which should be obvious,” she said, making sure to flash her eyes at the young lady, “No … parlor tricks tonight.” She was in as much danger as Lienne was should the 'apprentice' be found out. Many noble daughters went to the Circle, and lived their life in the golden cage. People who aided those that didn't were worthy of a full battery of magical tests in their own right.

“I am not a complete fool,” Lienne retorted, half-falling into the next seat, “I know how to charm someone without _charming_ them.”

Morrigan's mind immediately came up with a retort of its own, but she swallowed it, lips drawing back a little as she saw something in it she'd rather not. The exchange had reminded her a little too much of her own interactions with Mother. Except now, she was playing the role of Flemeth. She wanted no part in that.

“Do you know who is coming?” Lienne continued, “ _Everyone_. Look over there. The Left and Right Hands of the Divine are here.” The young lady gestured to the far left.

Morrigan's head whipped around to see, and sure enough, there stood Leliana in a formal dress, face uncovered, with another woman in ceremonial armour. Her former travelling companion looked well, she had to admit, but the cheerful eyes were gone.

Of course they had, Morrigan reminded herself, Leliana had gone straight back into the world of the bard, and the service of the Divine was likely filled with nothing but burdens given that the mages and Templars were at each other's throats.

She contemplated making an appearance at the group, but another approached, one she recognised as a Templar. One from the Circle Tower in Ferelden, no less. Less-than-friendly barbs over her choice of career could wait.

“So I see,” Morrigan said, finally replying to Lienne, “Does that mean the Divine will be making an appearance? Is that who we are all dolled up for?”

“She will not be appearing, no,” Lienne laughed, the sound like little bells, “How unfortunate for her.” There was a faux pout to go with the pleased statement. There was no love for the Chantry in Lienne de Montsimmard's heart, and why should there be?

Morrigan allowed herself a smile at her student's attitude, which she shared, naturally.

“Then who are we waiting for?” she said, “Is it the Empress?” She hoped she had kept the excitement of _that_ prospect out of her voice.

“The Empress is known to favour women,” Lienne replied, her eyes upward in thought, “Well, as long as they are _lapins,_ and not the kind I have themed my dress on _._ But it is an open secret that she is already here to observe, in disguise. And I think everyone would be trying to be more subtle if it was her.”

Morrigan stared, waiting for the penny to drop that she wanted to hear the whole story. Lienne caught on quick.

“No, it is a man we are all here to seduce,” the student said, equally as quickly, “I will not say exactly who, but I have my sources. A foreign noble of rank and reputation, certainly. If we are taken as a mistress, it would be a great diplomatic coup for the Empire...”

Morrigan, fury in her throat burning, eyed her student with exasperation and frustration. At no point had she agreed to be offered up as someone's plaything! And this little chit, a mage hidden from the world, thought it would be a great idea to offer herself up too! With Templars all around! She gripped the ruby necklace around her neck, barely containing the urge to pull it off, hand it to Lienne and make her exit.

But it was too late.

The main doors to the salon opened, and in walked the heralds, those they had come to announce hidden behind the Fereldans in full-plate.

“ _Mes Seigneurs et Dames,_ please welcome _Seigneur_ Alistair Theirin, Son of Maric, _Comte de_ Denerim, Constable of the Grey Wardens, and Knight-Divine-Elect!”

The band started up an anthem. A _royal_ anthem.

The imbecile himself made his appearance as his honour-guard parted to allow his entry. He looked less like a moron than before, cured somewhat by experience if the wrinkles coming off his eyes were any evidence, but this did not allow Morrigan to like him. He had completely ruined any chance of that by donning silver-edged formal Templar robes. A Knight-Divine indeed.

Of course, it had probably been his King that had convinced him to put on the robe. For the good of Ferelden.

All the ladies clapped, as Cosinne moved out in front of them to formally greet Alistair, Leliana moving in to give her more friendly one. The imbecile's eyes lit up on seeing her, and they hugged, as the clapping continued.

“Oh, can you imagine?” Lienne said, clapping herself, “Having Ferelden around your little finger? And what a way to do it. He is handsome. _Et royal!_ ”

Morrigan glared sideways at her student, offended for reasons she could not explain.

“Alistair Theirin does not rule Ferelden,” she explained with false calm, “Aedan Cousland is King.”

The clapping stopped, and Cosinne offered a public speech, congratulating Alistair on his elevation to the ruling body of the Templar Order and stating that it was a sign of improving relations between Orlais and Ferelden.

“Ah, but with the backing of the Divine and my father's chevaliers,” Lienne replied, as if she was drunk on the fantasy, “Alistair could be King. And I could be Queen.”

Morrigan burst out laughing at that, sending the pretty Lienne into a very real pout. Luckily, the music began again as the Fereldan group began introductions with the more important nobles in the room.

“My dear, Alistair Theirin is a Templar,” Morrigan smiled, “He does not like mages.” Even if he wasn't and didn't, he didn't trust them. She knew that from observation and personal experience.

“And how do you know?” Lienne responded, the pout continuing, “Ferelden is much more tolerant of mages living openly, and without silly arrangements like we have here in Orlais. Besides, he could like _me_. ”

More hilarity.

“Well, he is a moron,” Morrigan laughed, “Anything is possible. His experience with women is lacking too. Maybe he _would_ fall for you.”

Lienne gasped, before her eyes filled with guile and knowing. Normally, Morrigan was glad to see those qualities in her student, but she had ventured onto dangerous territory by virtue of her need to declare her superiority over Alistair.

“You _know_ him,” came the whisper.

“I may,” Morrigan admitted, like it was nothing, “He knows me by another name, of course.”

“Of course,” Lienne said, taking both of Morrigan's hands into hers, “You must introduce me, _Madame_.”

Lienne only ever called Morrigan _Madame_ when she wanted something. Else, it was just _Prof,_ like it was a lycée like the other noble children went to at earlier ages.

Morrigan thought first about rejecting that idea that proposition out of hand. It would expose her as someone known to Alistair, and that big-mouth definitely couldn't help but expound on just how he knew her. However, she had to be equally careful about her patron's favour.

Clearly, Cosinne wanted some from among her family and friends to seduce the imbecile, to make a play at power in Ferelden of some kind. Lienne had been recruited to try. If it got back to the Marquise that Morrigan had failed to assist, it could mean the end of her patronage. Lienne was a powerful mage and had learned much already. The major threat of exposure due to ignorance had long been squashed.

The risk was too large. She had to hope that Leliana would come to her rescue, rather than risking the wrath of Cosinne.

“Very well,” Morrigan said, standing and pulling Lienne to her feet, “If you want my advice, use your wit, not your … assets. He won't jump on you simply because you have breasts.”

“A gentleman?” Lienne said, pursing her lips, “How cute.”

Morrigan couldn't stomach any more complimentary talk about the imbecile, and so led Lienne across the floor. The crowd moved out of their way, for the most part. Cosinne had laid the groundwork for this moment, obviously. It made Morrigan wonder if the Marquise knew her real identity. For a family like the Montsimmards, it would have been possible to find out if they dug long enough.

They arrived beside Alistair and Leliana, who were both turned around and talking to a trio of similarly dressed young noblewomen, all three waving their fans slowly and glancing at Alistair over the top of them suggestively. The imbecile merely politely extended his greetings, without a hint of sarcasm. Blunt questions about his marital status were bound to follow.

Leliana noticed Morrigan and Lienne first. The bard's first reaction was a quick blink, as if she was making sure it was really what she was seeing. The next was a broad smile. The last was to tap Alistair on the shoulder and gesture to the newcomers, before moving to remove the aforementioned noble ladies from earshot.

“And who are you?” Alistair said, looking between Morrigan and Lienne, his eyes lingering on Lienne far longer. Maybe the student did have a shot after all, Morrigan thought, before gripping the rim of her mask and slowly pulling it off.

“YOU!” Alistair said, taking a step back and pointing at her.

Morrigan cackled, enjoying the surprise with every fibre of her being.

“'tis I!” Morrigan said, with a mocking curtsy, “Were you not expecting to see me, _Lord_ Theirin?”

“Not _in a dress!_ ” Alistair replied, regaining himself a little, “I thought I'd be able to spot you a mile away.”

“Then you are truly an imbecile,” Morrigan said, delivering the line like in the days of old, “If you could enter this place wearing anything else, that is.”

Alistair narrowed his eyes. “You know, I think I preferred you when you were a swamp witch,” he said, “There's something profoundly disturbing about seeing you dressed up at an Orlesian party, and no one is screaming 'Fetch the Templars!'.”

“Good thing there is one here, is it not?” Lienne remarked, as if it was nothing, “You can take her away at once.” The 'apprentice' winked at Alistair and grinned.

Morrigan felt the smile wiped off her face at once. Worse, the imbecile noticed, and returned the grin he had been given.

“Oooooh, that _is_ a good idea,” Alistair said, before cocking an eyebrow, “I like you, you have all sorts of dastardly plans. Who are you?”

“Lienne de Montsimmard, daughter of the Marquise,” Lienne said, “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“I'm Alistair,” the imbecile replied, “Currently here to look important and receive lots of praise. Because we needed an excuse to come here.”

“Oh? What for?” Lienne said, “Was it that difficult?”

“Luckily, I do have some influence with the Divine,” Leliana said, cutting in, “And the Marquise was delighted to host the reception.”

Morrigan shook her head. “You wanted to come to a party?” she said incredulously, “And you couldn't have just asked? _I_ got invited, surely it would be no small task for a bard and a royal bastard.”

“Ferelden and Orlais do not have a formal peace treaty,” Leliana said, “It is not easy for them to come here. There needed to be a reason. Alistair agreed to be... promoted.”

“Lucky me,” Alistair said, before looking at Lienne, “Can you tell me what's going on? These women are all looking at me like I'm a piece of cheese to be gobbled up, and it's almost as disturbing as Morrigan over there.”

“Morrigan?” Lienne said, looking to her, “That is your real name? How unusual!”

I'm going to kill him, Morrigan thought to herself, turn into a giant spider and bleed him!

“Why, was she going by some Orlesian name?” Alistair smirked, “As if the daughter of Flemeth and Witch of the Wilds could hide behind _that_.”

Morrigan covered the man's mouth with her hand, unable to shut it by other means. He snatched it away and complained, but the damage was done. The only reason he wasn't a smoking ruin was that she had taken every precaution to protect Kieran's identity. Otherwise, this threat to her would've been a threat to her son too.

“A Witch of the Wilds?” Lienne said, excitedly, “I've been taught by a Witch of the Wilds? I cannot believe it!” So much for hoping no one outside of Ferelden knew that particular legend.

Morrigan should've known better. The Marquis and Marquise had provided their daughter with a wide variety of books on every conceivable magical topic. It was inevitable that one of them would touch on magical figures. Though judging by Lienne's reaction, it was probably a child's book that contained the information on her mother.

“Wait, what?” Alistair said, confused, “She's your teacher?”

Morrigan opened her mouth to drop the bomb of Lienne's magic in retaliation for her own slight, but a polite cough from the bard stopped her.

“We should do what we came here to do,” Leliana interrupted, “Morrigan, we did not come here to attend a soirée, or even for Alistair. We came here for you.”

Morrigan frowned, and looked to Alistair. The imbecile sighed, and nodded once.

“For me?” she said, “What could you two possibly want with me? I have my own life to live.”

“It isn't us that wants you,” Alistair said, before looking behind her, “We're only helping the man who does. Always has.”

Morrigan turned around. A Fereldan guardsman wearing a full-face helmet was there, the Dogs of Ferelden sigil surrounded by the Cousland wreath at her eye level about an arm's length away. At first, she was offended by how close he was, but he began to take away helmet, revealing what was underneath. Dark brown hair; honest, playful grey eyes; lips with their corners turned ever so slightly.

It was Aedan. Her eyes opened wide, taking in the sight.

“Hello, Morrigan,” said the father of her son, the King of Ferelden, “I'm sorry I didn't come find you sooner.”

Morrigan opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She raised her hand to slap him, but lowered it again. She pointed at him, briefly. She moved closer to kiss him for a split second, but remembered where she was and what everyone else could not discover. Finally, she settled on a real response.

“From what I hear, you were busy,” Morrigan said, with as much composure as possible, “But it is good to see you again, Aedan.” He wasn't fooled, and let out a restrained laugh.

“Aedan?” Lienne thought aloud, before her eyes opened as wide as they could go.

“Lienne...” Morrigan warned in her most threatening tone, turning to her as to shoot her most threatening glare.

“ _Le roi?_ ” her student whispered, glancing between them, “Is it...”

“Yes, it is,” Aedan answered, “I would appreciate your discretion, Lady de Montsimmard. This is a matter for the Fereldan realm alone. A family matter.”

Lienne nodded once, very pleased to be included in such intrigue. No doubt her pretty little head was spinning with joy.

Morrigan spun back towards him, eyebrow cocked. “A family matter? Is it now?” she said, “After all these years.”

“We will discuss it privately,” Aedan sighed, before he looked at the imbecile, “Alistair, this is your evening, and this young lady wants to show you around if I'm not mistaken. Allow her to escort you. That's an order.”

Alistair looked at Lienne, who looked back up at him with her best puppy-dog eyes. The man caved at once. “If it helps,” he said, “But I still want to know what Morrigan was teaching her.”

“Take a guess,” Morrigan laughed, “Or three. It might take you a while to arrive at the correct conclusion.”

Alistair scowled, but was quickly distracted by Lienne moving in to take his arm. He was still an imbecile, but clearly he had lost that which he still had when last she saw him.

“Well played,” Leliana said to Aedan, “I did not think he would go with her, given that she's a mage. They will distract the entire _salon_ for the rest of the evening.”

The eyes of the room did follow the pair as they moved off towards Cosinne, who beamed from under her mask, very pleased by this development.

“She's a mage?” Aedan asked honestly.

Leliana and Morrigan exchanged looks, and both laughed. Of course she was a mage.

“Okay, I'm an idiot,” the man said, “Morrigan's her teacher, what else could she possibly be learning. Leliana, is the room ready?”

“Second left,” Leliana replied, with a flick of her wrist behind her, “Your guards are already outside it. There are no peekholes or places to listen in. You will have privacy.”

“Good,” Aedan said, before taking Morrigan's hand, “I have something very important to say to you. It involves us, and it involves Ferelden.”

Morrigan stared up at him, dismissing the absurd conclusion those words brought to mind at once. What this could possibly all be about, and why it involved her, she did not know. Her feelings were a jumble. It meant she still loved him, she knew, but that was no reason to drop everything for him. She had a son. He was a king. But the only way to know anything for sure was to go along with it.

“I'll listen,” she said, “Let's go.”

 


	3. Once Upon A Time

“I want you to marry me.”

Morrigan had barely sat down before the words came at her. Despite their quickness in coming, they were not blurted out nervously. There was calm. Practised words, perhaps. The man's grey eyes bored into her as he said in, a determination in them she had seen before. He wanted this, and would have it.

How annoying.

Aedan had been king long enough to believe he could get anything of any single person, obviously. What an absurd request. She would have rejected it even if it had been offered eight years ago, when she felt the most for this man. Those emotions were sparking again, attempting to overcome her reason. But she wouldn't let them. She wouldn't let them show either.

“That's very presumptuous of you,” Morrigan replied, politely, “We have not been together since the night we brought our son into this world. You have not contacted us since our return to Thedas either, though clearly you knew we had returned. You would not be here otherwise. One assumes you didn't care.”

The King of Ferelden grimaced, out of regret. She had struck true with at least one of those barbs. But as always, the man had an answer for everything.

“I was only informed you were in Orlais six months ago,” Aedan replied, sitting down on one of the side waiting-room's chairs, “Leliana was undercover for the Divine, and spotted you at a salon. She sent word immediately.”

Morrigan almost blanched, the thought of being in debt to the bard almost too much to take. She had sniffed around Aedan too, once upon a time. There was even an _incident_ in a Denerim brothel that remained unaccounted for, though that was before Morrigan had made her own move. Before her plan had caught up to her in ways she hadn't planned.

“Why should I forgive you for that,” Morrigan sniffed, “You must have spies in Orlais.”

“I have more now than I once did,” Aedan smiled, “Orlais has its own problems, but if they ever got resolved...”

“Chevaliers could be riding through Gherlan's Pass in less than a fortnight,” Morrigan said, “Yes, yes, I know. You do realise you could make it very dangerous for Orlais to do that, if you could just overcome the stupidity of your subjects.” Which was immense, she remembered.

“Strengthening Ferelden is one of the reasons I want you to come back with me,” Aedan said, “I couldn't have slain the Archdemon without you, you know? The realm could use that strength.”

That was the least romantic thing it was possible to say, and the way he was saying it... This required resolution.

“Are you asking me to marry you or are you recruiting me like a common soldier?” Morrigan quipped, “If you just want my help, it should not require me to tie myself to you in such a way.”

Aedan quickly put up his hands.

“No, no... I didn't mean it like that,” he said, panic edging into his voice, “It would be good to have you for that reason is all. I didn't say it's the only one.”

So defensive. It was just like old times. Morrigan laughed loudly, unable to help herself.

“Really Aedan, you are too easy,” she cackled, “Consider that your punishment for pretending that mundane aid in running your little kingdom is any reason at all for me to take you as a husband. We both know we have a deeper connection than that.”

The King raised an eyebrow.

“We all make mistakes,” Aedan shrugged in a most unkingly manner, “Sorry.”

“This whole thing is a mistake,” Morrigan continued, “Marrying you would mean becoming a consort. There hasn't been a sorceress as a royal consort since the days of Tevinter, and the Chantry will aim to keep it that way.”

“The Chantry will likely not have any choice, soon enough,” Aedan replied, “Kirkwall has changed everything.”

“Kirkwall has driven the Templars mad,” Morrigan replied sharply, “It is very lucky that I had secured the patronage of de Montsimmard by the time it happened, or else your son and I would have both been dragged off to a Circle by now. Or, more likely, I would be dead and Kieran would be on the run, because you know I could not allow him to be imprisoned for being who he is.”

“I know,” Aedan said, “But it won't be safer for you to keep doing what you've been doing. The Divine wishes reconciliation. The Templars do not, at least in Orlais. They will split soon, and there will be war. Ferelden can protect you from the Templars when that happens. Ferelden can protect the mages.”

So that was his plan, Morrigan mused with pursed lips, to gather the southern mages under his banner. It would make Ferelden far more powerful than its size would otherwise allow. How clever.

“The odds are not in your favour,” Morrigan said, “And I have more than myself to worry about now.”

The king sat down himself, resting both of his arms on those of the leather covered chair, looking directly at her.

“Do you want me to say it?” Aedan said, “That I love you, that I'm lonely? You might not like that sort of talk, but it is just us in here.” He waved around at the bookcases and the

Unbelievable, after what he had done.

“I might,” Morrigan replied, eyes narrowing, “If I believed it. You did marry that harridan, after all.”

“A political marriage,” Aedan stated, “And Anora is dead.”

Red heat flooded the front of Morrigan's head. “You could've put Alistair on the throne!” she snarled, “But no, you couldn't make him do it, despite it being his birthright.”

“No one was forcing you to run off at the time,” Aedan replied calmly, “You made a choice too. I moved on with my life, and I did my duty. Alistair was not ready to be king, and I was only Prince-Consort.”

“The only job of a Prince-Consort is _producing_ an heir,” said Morrigan smoothly, “That must've been fun.” And time consuming, given that Anora was supposedly barren.

“Trust me, it was not,” Aedan frowned, “But let me be clear, I love my daughter by Anora. The same as I love my son.”

“The son you haven't even met,” Morrigan sighed, “And that's another complication. Does Kieran become heir to the throne?”

“No, it would still be Moira,” Aedan said, “I'd give Kieran a fief, if he wanted one. There are a number still under royal regency at the moment because of deaths since the Blight. The Landsmeet can't decide who should get the new lands, a load of nobles died in the Blight, so it's all under my authority at the moment.”

Anora's doing, no doubt. The harridan was nothing if not power-hungry, and keeping the nobles fighting while skimming the income of the disputed lands would be right up her alley, if her reputation among the Orlesians was correct.

As for the proposal, Morrigan had to pause, biting her lip. It was one thing to have royal protection. It was another for her son to become a feudal lord.

“Even if Kieran did want a fief, the Landsmeet would have to confirm such an appointment,” she said, “I cannot see it approving such a thing.”

Aedan nodded. “It couldn't happen any time soon,” he agreed, “But I am going to change Ferelden. Anora refused to push the realm forward, to use everything we found during our fight against the Blight. I intend to do so.”

Morrigan's first thought was that Aedan had lost his mind. The nobles would hang his flayed corpse over the palace doors until it was nothing but dust, she was sure of it. Dalish, dwarves and mages. They'd never allow it. But Orlais hung over everything Ferelden did. The place was trapped.

And suddenly, she understood why Aedan needed her.

“You need someone you can trust,” Morrigan said, “You want to beat the Orlesian invasion, but the only way you could do that would get you assassinated by your idiot aristocracy.”

“No, I need someone I love,” Aedan said, “Trust only goes so far... I'm alone out there. I have a daughter and a son I can't protect alone. If all I have is the throne and worrying about my children, I will lose my mind. There is only one person who can help. You. Do you understand?”

Morrigan did, but remained quiet. This was all... embarrassing, somehow. It had been too long. She averted her eyes.

“I need you and I will give you anything you want,” he continued, “Everything I have. That's how I was raised. I want for my children what my parents gave me, and more.”

Now that was interesting.

“Anything I want?” Morrigan asked, “Careful with those words, my love.”

The King's eyes narrowed with mirth. “So you admit you love me after all?” Aedan said, with an 'Ah ha!' tone. Morrigan enjoyed it when he thought he was winning.

“I want the crown,” she stated.

“I've already agreed to give you that,” Aedan said, confused.

“No, no, you don't understand,” Morrigan smiled back, “I want _the_ crown. I will not be a 'Princess-Consort'. I will be Queen. Your equal. Nothing less.”

Aedan's eyes opened wide. He hadn't expected that. And it was beautiful.

“That will make things worse for us,” he said, “You do understand?”

“Will it?” Morrigan asked, “You think that any assassin could defeat you and I together? With the Templar imbecile to back us up? No, they'd have to kill us individually. And because they won't be able to kill me, all they'll accomplish is letting me rule alone after they kill _you_. The threat of that will stop them trying at all.” 

“Or, they vote me off the throne without knives and poisons getting involved,” Aedan said, standing up once more, “But a promise is a promise. If you want to be Queen of Ferelden, that is in my power to grant. At least until the Landsmeet decides otherwise. And we can face that together.”

Morrigan smiled. At last. Real power. A shield to protect her son. A sword to strike down her enemies. And she didn't need to sell herself to anyone. Aedan would follow her, not the other way around, she was sure. And that he had come all this way into enemy territory to find her was more than a little flattering.

“I knew you would see reason,” she purred, “Now... Leliana promised us privacy.”

Morrigan pulled her co-ruler-to-be towards her, and kissed him on the cheek.

“Take off your clothes.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism appreciated!


End file.
